


in the panic room

by mitzvahmelting



Series: in the batcave [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dominant Tim Drake, M/M, Past Underage, Submissive Bruce Wayne, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 17:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/pseuds/mitzvahmelting
Summary: After coming back from the dead, Jason discovers Tim and Bruce have an ongoing sexual relationship. Jason has conflicting feelings about the whole thing. He thought he would be jealous, or angry, but instead he feels wistful, and a little bit proud?





	in the panic room

**Author's Note:**

> directly follows "in the showers" so read that first

One of the reasons there are security cameras throughout the Batcave is to keep an objective account of events, should any psychological alteration occur by drugs or other means. The cameras are motion activated, and the video files are catalogued by date and persons present (aside from the folder entirely dedicated to brief appearances of bats). The footage is all password locked, only accessible by a member of the team.

Some footage contains sensitive materials; there are cameras in the gym, bathroom, panic room.  Users can identify personal footage and tag it private, so they’ll receive a notification if anyone tries to access the file. It doesn’t wall off the file, though, because every file needs to be accessible in a life-or-death situation. That’s why the system logs every user who accesses each file, and the time of access, to hold the users accountable.

It’s the first thing Jason checks when he returns from the dead.  At least, it’s the first thing he checks when he discovers he’s been replaced.

Footage containing Bruce and Tim, filtered with the Private tag.

He starts watching.  Batman already knows about Jason’s return, so it’s not like Jason needs to hide his browsing.  He listens to their personal conversations, hidden away in the Batcomputer’s memories. Their talks about Robin’s family, about Tim’s mental health.  A brief, aborted conversation about Jason and what happened in the warehouse. Arguments between Batman and Robin with emotions running high, insults that cut.

Fear toxin, Joker gas, hallucinations.

And then, apparently, that time Bruce gives Tim a blowjob in the shower.

When they’re both completely naked, on cold tile in the steamy bathroom, with seventeen year-old Tim’s cock shoved all the way back into Bruce’s throat and Bruce’s palms gripping Tim’s ass cheeks to urge him in deeper.

The expression of delight on Tim’s face, obviously not only at the sex itself, but about Bruce’s enthusiasm and desperation.

At first, Jason can only watch with an open mouth. And the very first emotion that worms its way up from his stomach into his throat is not disgust, nor rage, but a sort of begrudging respect and awe.

Like Tim managed to do something that Dick and Jason failed at, despite their best efforts.

Not that they actually… tried? Not that they had any conversations about this barring the awkward rooftop heart-to-heart late in Jason’s career as Robin when Dick advised him not to “put Bruce on a pedestal” and Jason hadn’t understood at all what he was saying.

Then, beyond the respect, there’s… a sense of satisfaction?

Because, ever since Jason realized he’d died, and Batman hadn’t saved him, nor had he sought revenge… Bruce came toppling off that pedestal fast. Jason kept revisiting old memories of his interactions with Batman and suddenly seeing all the flaws in Bruce’s techniques and behavior. No longer did it seem like Batman avoided emotional confrontation because emotions were weak… rather, it seems like Batman avoided those confrontations because he wasn’t _equipped_ for them, he wasn’t _good_ at them.

Watching Bruce go after Tim’s cock like a starving man is the last confirmation that Jason needs: he doesn’t need to compare himself to Bruce anymore.

Bruce isn’t infallible. Bruce has needs like everyone else. Bruce makes mistakes.

Bruce can be broken just like Jason was.

 

So Jason straddles his bike and lets the motor growl heavy in the Gotham smog.  Bruce must be expecting him; there’s no doubt that Bruce received the notification from the Batcomputer once Jason began tearing through those old, private files.  The twenty minute ride to the cave, plus the time elapsed since Jason _started_ his investigation, gives Bruce plenty of time to prepare for Jason’s arrival.

Jason doesn’t care. Let Bruce put on his Batman scowl and scold Jason; it won’t stop him. It won’t scare Jason off from following whatever path this compass-like tugging in his gut is leading him down.

A voice cuts into the speakers on Jason’s helmet, higher pitched like a certain little bird. _“What are you going to do when you get there?”_ Tim asks, neutrally.

“None of your business, _pendejo,_ ” he snaps back through the hood mic.  He winces, though, because the retort felt half-assed.  He should have said something more aggressive. He should be angrier at Tim.

He’s not angry. 

For the first time since he met Tim, he isn’t angry at him. 

Because honestly, how could Jason be angry at Tim, when he can empathize so thoroughly with him? When they both have this identical lust, and when Tim was the only one brave enough to pursue it, damn the consequences… Jason can’t hold back this _respect,_ bright and burning in his chest.

But he doesn’t say anything about it. He just listens to the comm, and tries to feign annoyance

Tim doesn’t seem angry either.  After a tense pause, he continues, _“Right, well… I have an olive branch for you, hermano.”_

“You have a _what,_ now?”

_“An olive branch. Look, Jay, can you just—pull over, alright? You shouldn’t be driving when I tell you this.”_

Jason grimaces. “I need to see Bruce.”  He doesn’t know why, or what he’ll do when he gets there. He’s just running on instinct.  He needs to see the man face-to-face. “You can’t stop me.”

_“I’m not stopping you. Pull over for two seconds, alright?”_

Jason is already braking, veering into the shoulder of the throughway just on the other side of the bridge. He rolls to a stop, and a couple of headlights pass him as he dismounts his bike and settles his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Hey,” says Tim. Jason flinches and spins around to find Tim in street clothes and a hoodie, sitting on the guard rail like he’s been there for ages. 

Jason presses the latch that opens the hood, pulling the helmet off. “Where did you come from?”

“Home,” says Tim.  The word is loaded.  Unlike in the years-old video, now Tim’s hair is long enough to reach the collar of his hoodie, soft and feathery.

Jason crosses his arms, skin tight against his sleeves. “What did you want to tell me?”

“You’re going to fuck him, aren’t you?” Tim asks. His eyes shine with intensity, and he stares at Jason, not aggressive, but sober and wary.

Jason can feel the blood flush his cheeks as he meets Tim’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he says, and then he’s thinking about it. Thinking about touching Bruce. Thinking about pressing his hips against Bruce’s firm buttocks and gripping the man’s chest to steady – “yes,” he says to Tim, compulsively. “Yes, maybe.”

Tim smirks, and turns his gaze to the gravel beside the road. “Thought so.  I think it’s a good idea.”

Jason scoffs. “A good idea?”

“Well, not a good idea. But I… I want you to. I want to give you my blessing. I want…” Tim goes silent, and he’s looking at the gravel, his face cast dark in the shadows encroaching on the asphalt. “I don’t want this to come between us. I want this to be something we can share.”

“You mean, Bruce’s body?”  It’s so absurd that Jason feels like he ought to be laughing, but he can’t even crack a smile because the adrenaline and arousal is still... he feels like he’s high.

“I suppose so,” Tim confirms. “Is that insane?”

“You know it is,” says Jason. “But…” he begins, and allows the rest to go unsaid: _we can do it, anyway._

The smirk transforms into a hopeful smile as Tim perks up at Jason’s agreement.

Jason glances impatiently at his bike.

“Um,” says Tim, “I prepared. As soon as I saw you were going through those videos, I… you’ll see.”

“I’ll see what?”

“I mean, B already knows you’re coming. If he’s still tied up by the time you get there—”

“Tied up?”

“—then it must mean he’s ready for whatever you’re going to throw at him.”

Jason’s brain is going a bit haywire trying to process Tim’s implication. “You…” he tries, but the image in his head has left him speechless.

Tim’s eyes are thoughtful, trained away from Jason towards the shadows, lost in memory. “I don’t know how much you saw,” he admits.  “I don’t want you to underestimate just how amenable Bruce is to his own sexual urges.”

“I thought you just started some recreational fucking.”

Tim grins. “Oh, this has gone way beyond recreational.”

“God, Tim.”

“It’s like a religion.”

Jason’s rubbing his forehead, trying to make sense of this. “I didn’t realize you did this so frequently.”

“Once you start, it’s hard to stop.”

“ _Mierda,”_ Jason mutters. Beyond that, he can’t think of what to say.

Everything he understood about the world, and his place in it, has been wrong. Everything he understood about his _family,_ and his place in it, has been wrong.  Can it even be called a family anymore? Sex cult, more like it.

“So, he fires Dick, right. And then I get killed. But _you…_ ” Jason murmurs, as cars continue passing on the highway, _woosh_ of air punctuating his speech, “He _bends over_ for you. What gives.”

Tim hums thoughtfully. “You should ask him.”

“I will.” Jason crosses his arms in front of his chest, feels a chill run down the roadway. “I goddamn will.”

Was Tim more attractive? More obedient? More capable? More physically able?

This moment would be his cue to ride the rest of the way to the Manor, to the cave, to whatever new version of Bruce is waiting there, bearing answers to all of Jason’s questions.  But Jason doesn’t move.

“You haven’t gotten on your bike, yet.” Tim remarks.

Jason doesn’t move.

“Jay,” Tim prompts.  “Is something wrong?”

“What if he’s not there?” Jason shivers, and falls backward to rest next to Tim on the guard rail. “What if… he knows I’m coming and he doesn’t want to… be like that… with me?  What if I’m not good enough?”

Tim’s features twist in concern. “Jason…”

“It’s not like I’m allowed in the cave.  I’ve been banned.  I’ll show up expecting to get my dick wet, and _boom_ , I get fucking scolded.” Jason grimaces. “Or, if he is there, waiting for me, and then… what am I supposed to do? I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know how to… pleasure him.”

“This isn’t about that,” Tim tries to clarify.

“Like hell, it isn’t!” Jason retorts, fingers twisting in his jacket sleeves. “Sure, he might take it up the ass, but at the end of the day it’s just part of Batman and Robin. It’s just a service that you can provide. A service that _you_ can provide, but Dick and I can’t.”

Tim’s laugh is choked up like miserable hysterics. “No, Jason, you don’t understand—I mean, you really have to see him to understand, but I can try to explain… when you get there, when you get to the cave. That’s not Batman who’s waiting for you.  He’s not Batman when he’s like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s… different. He’s _desperate._ He’s naïve.”

Jason sighs heavily, and his breath shakes on the way out. “That doesn’t sound real.”

“Cross my heart,” Tim swears, even making the motion over the left side of his chest.

“This is insane.”

“I know,” says Tim.

A beat. The cars pass, and Tim watches, and Jason’s hands are shaking. His throat is choked up. He can feel himself shutting down, the overwhelming frustration and anxiety turning his sinuses warm. “This is _insane,”_ he moans again, covering his eyes with his gloves so Tim can’t see the anger-tears slipping down his cheeks.  He feels so caged by the threat of wrong decisions and missed opportunities.  Shock-still.

“Jason…” Tim offers in an empathetic tone, shifting closer to rub a comforting palm in circles between Jason’s shoulders, “I’m sorry, this is supposed to be a good thing. This is supposed to be—”

“I _know_ , I’m just being… fuck.” Jason takes a deep breath, and turns slightly to Tim without looking him in the eye. “I can’t do this. I can’t risk it.”

He’ll just go back home. He’ll just erase the video from his computer and forget any of this ever happened, so things can go back to normal.

Tim’s head tilts with a concern that Jason can’t even bring himself to resent.  “I’ll go with you.”

“What?”

Tim stands up off the guard rail. “I’ll go with you.  I’ll keep him in his place. No one’s going to chew you out or make you uncomfortable.”  And, from Tim’s voice, it definitely sounds like he’s only saying these things to humor Jason, because there was no danger of being chewed out in the first place. But it… helps.

The prodigal son hiding behind the favorite’s knees… that’s something Jason can do. He can sacrifice a bit of his pride for an escort from Tim.

It’s worth it to see Brucewith his own eyes.

 

Evidently, Bruce and Tim had taken to fucking in the panic room, because it was secure (except for the security cameras), and the door could only be unlocked from the inside. This would protect their secret rendezvous from accidental discovery, by Alfred or otherwise.

The panic room was already equipped with restraints, metal cuffs that protruded from the wall, but Bruce and Tim don’t use them.  Those cuffs are _too_ strong, built to contain a Batman who, for whatever reason, would be trying desperately to break free.  For consensual roleplay, such intense restraints would be limiting, and dredge up distressing memories.

Instead, they use a regular pair of cuffs, with a long chain between. The chain loops through a hook in the ceiling, and it has an emergency release lock which, if he strained to reach it, Bruce could trigger. Much safer.

All of this is information Jason learns from Tim during the ride back to the manor, the two of them on their bikes, communicating through headset. Every time Jason half-asks an awkwardly worded question, Tim gives a thorough, enthusiastic response. He wants Jason to be comfortable. He wants Jason to have all the information, so there’s no reason he’d be surprised when they arrive.

After all, Jason realizes when they pass through the mouth of the cave, it’s disorienting enough just to _be_ in the cave, after all this time.  He shoves down some unnecessary nostalgia and parks his bike in the corner where he always does – did. Tim’s hair is flat where his helmet had been. His eyes are two pinpricks of lust, caught on Jason, observing him.

“Well,” Jason offers over the loud pounding of his heart, “lead the way.”

Tim takes a deep breath, pacing over to the panic room door and rapping his knuckles against the metal, gently.  He knocks three times, a pause, and then once more. Not a particularly secure password, but the situation only required moderate security to begin with.

On the other side of the door, Bruce must have given the vocal authorization for the door to open.  Tim and Jason hear the click of the lock, and then Tim pulls the handle.

Jason can’t see through the crack in the door, yet, when Tim pauses. It doesn’t seem intentional, it’s just that he’s standing there with his mouth parted, eyes warm, like…

It’s the expression a man wears when the love of his life enters a room.  To see it on Tim in this context… demonstrates the depth of his affection for Bruce, perhaps.  Or, his affection for Bruce, when Bruce is like _this._

The hesitation lasts only a half-second, and then Tim enters the room, and Jason finally lays eyes on Bruce.  He had been apprehensively expecting nudity, so it’s a bit of a relief to find none. Bruce is clothed in a white t-shirt and navy boxer-briefs, with a sleep mask tied across his eyes, and his wrists held up towards the ceiling, with only enough slack so he can bend his elbows.

Bruce turns his face blindly in the direction of the door. “My shoulders are straining,” he says softly.  He doesn’t make a request, he doesn’t imply that Tim should let him down. He just says it, informatively.  If nothing else, communication has improved dramatically since Jason died.

“Yeah?” Tim whispers, “Think you can stay up a little longer, to show Jason how obedient you are?”

It sucks the air out of the room. Everything about Bruce’s posture stiffens, and his eyebrows rise above the fabric blindfold. He turns again to face the door, away from Tim, and he breathes, “Jason.”

Jason feels like he swallowed a rock. He watches Bruce’s sightless body language, the way his head tilts almost imperceptibly to track as Jason moves closer. “Hey,” says Jason.

“You have to understand I never meant for any of this to—” Bruce urgently tries to explain, but Tim is touching him, and his words stumble. He pleads and pleads, desperately, “it wasn’t like this, when you and Dick were young… _please_ , believe me, this wasn’t my idea, this wasn’t my intention…”

Jason doesn’t respond. He watches Tim, watches his fingers knot in Bruce’s hair and tilt his head back.

Bruce’s face pales. “Jason, Jason, please, say something, I can’t see you, I don’t know what you’re thinking…”

“That’s enough,” Tim murmurs against his lover’s ear, “let him think, Bruce.”

Jason is thinking he _must_ be dreaming because this situation is so unreal… either a dream or a nightmare… and he says, “I believe you,” but it sounds like it’s coming from something other than his own voice.

Tim’s eyes flicker to Jason, in surprise.

Jason says to Tim, “Let him down. I can’t… we can’t have a conversation like this.”

“Is that what you want?” Tim asks him, disbelieving. “A conversation? You two always end up arguing.”

It seems like Tim thinks it would be perfectly natural to skip the conversation and initiate sex immediately. Or communicate via sex. But Jason could never get hard under these circumstances; at least, that’s what he’s telling himself, as he watches Bruce’s arms hang idly from his bonds, the sensual tightening of the man’s stomach under his shirt.

“Please, Tim,” Jason says.

With his eyes on Jason, Tim finally nods. As he reaches up to release Bruce’s wrists from the cuffs, he specifies to Jason “One condition, though: he’s keeping the blindfold on.”

 

Moments later, the three of them are seated on the stone cave floor. Bruce has curled up with his knees to his chest – his face points blindly forward, and he doesn’t reach to undo the blindfold himself. Bruce’s unquestioning obedience makes Jason go hot in the gut. So many times, when Jason was growing up in the Narrows, he’d fantasized about a Batman who wasn’t a man, but some kind of demon, something bound to Jason by ritual, something owned and predictable. That’s what this reminds him of – pet Bat, waiting for his orders.

Damn. Jason mirrors Bruce’s posture, hugging his knees to himself. He tries to forget about his arousal and focus on the parts of the situation that made him uncomfortable in the first place.  “Tim was underage when this started,” he blurts out, and then he waits for an explanation.

“I was. Would you like to talk about that, B, or shall I?” Tim’s tone is matter-of-fact, and somehow deeply patronizing.

But it doesn’t seem to bait Bruce. Maybe a twitch of his mouth – if so, Jason misses it – and then Bruce tilts his head. Tim seems to read those micro-movements like language.

“Okay,” says Tim, and then to Jason he says, “I started it.”

At that, Jason rolls his eyes and mutters, “I assumed that much.” The idea of Bruce being the one to initiate this relationship with Tim is so far beyond the realm of possibility that Jason had laughed it off. “That’s not what I’m wondering about. My issue is… you were underage, so wouldn’t Bruce have stopped it then?”

A huff from Bruce, breath of air hitting the stone. Almost like a sour, ironic laugh, yet without enough force to make any sound.

Tim says to Jason, “You overestimate him.”

“Tim—” Bruce interjects.

“I’m sorry, I misspoke,” Tim amends, “You overestimate not his _morals_ but his ability to _enforce_ them. Especially against… what I was doing.”

Jason frowns. “This sounds like you started this without consent—”

“It was consensual,” Tim says too fast, but firmly.

Nothing is said to fill the silence that follows. Tim’s eyes stray to Bruce the way a drug lord’s eyes would stray to the location of a hidden safe. Despite the blindfold, Bruce anticipates this, and tilts his face towards Tim to blindly meet that gaze.

Bruce’s expression is inscrutable.

“It…” Tim says, and then he sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“I never thought it would be simple.” Jason had been sitting like Bruce with his knees hugged to his chest. Now he relaxes more, sitting cross-legged, trying to indicate he’s ready for the whole story.

There’s a feeling here. As much as the uncomfortable lust for Bruce was something shared between the Robins, something passed down between them… there is a part of Jason that feels guilty watching Tim struggle with it. _These feelings made me do something,_ Tim seems to be saying, subtextually, _and I don’t understand it_. Jason feels responsible. Those had been his feelings too. Something that snowballed through Dick’s adolescence and Jason’s adolescence until Tim was saddled with something too strong for him to manage alone.

“He wanted it,” says Tim. “By which I mean… it is a want that he had, something that existed independently of my actions.”

Voicelessly, Bruce mouths out, _“higher order volition,”_ which Tim notes. It… doesn’t surprise Jason that Bruce can’t bring himself to speak during this conversation, can’t seem to voice anything because that would make it too real.

“Right,” says Tim, “right, we talked about… there are the things you want, and the things you _want_ to want. Like someone who is addicted to substances… their first-order desire is for the drug. Their second-order desire is that they don’t _want_ to want the drug; they want to be sober. If your will is strong, your second-order desire wins out.”

Jason is listening to Tim, but he’s looking at Bruce, too. Can’t stop… analyzing him. At the edges of the undershirt, the visible bruising. Some of it is the sort of bruising you get while wearing armor, with seams and edges. The rest is… something different. Impact on naked skin. Pink and red, inflamed.

Through the boxers, Jason can make out the outline of Bruce’s equipment. That’s… surreal.

“I…” says Tim thoughtfully, “I seduced him. Which means… encouraging someone to give in to their first-order desires. It doesn’t _undermine_ consent, it just… complicates it.”

Jason licks his lips, and flicks his eyes towards Tim again. “Still shouldn’t have been possible. He should have stopped you. He would have. What changed?”

Tim’s eyes go dark, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “Now you’re underestimating _me._ ”

 

What Jason gathers from this conversation is… Tim doesn’t feel guilty, per se. He’s too damn proud of himself to feel guilty.

Jason himself wavers between the two.

The part of this sticking in Jason’s teeth is the open distress in Bruce’s body, on his face. Tim is touching Bruce again, with confidence and familiarity, to demonstrate the ease with which he can take Bruce apart under his ministrations, and Jason is watching. With each touch from Tim, Bruce’s reaction is twofold; lust, and self-directed disgust, spiraling into each other, fracturing into fractals of adjacent emotion, need, hate, fear, desperation, relief…

Is Jason more interested in protecting Bruce from this, or… participating? What does he stand to gain from either side? Should he really try to cut Bruce off from a relationship he’s already so entangled with on a base psychological level, and force Bruce to struggle to repress these feelings once more, just for the sake of some imaginary ideal of protecting Bruce from his weakness of will?

It’s not like you can really shut Pandora’s box.

And Tim is _good_ at this. He kneels in front of Bruce, leaves the blindfold in place and caresses Bruce’s cheek beneath the strap, Tim’s voice murmuring, “Alright, it’s alright,” soothingly, pressing open mouthed kisses in a line up Bruce’s throat so the man tilts his head back and presents for it. “I want to show him,” Tim whispers, achingly sweet, “Show him how good you can be.”

The tone is almost… maternal, and Bruce cracks open for it, which is both completely disgusting and entirely predictable. Bruce Wayne, like a broken clock that’s right twice a day. Stuck in the expected rhythms.

Jason should have guessed that it would go like this.

Tim kisses and touches and strokes him, enough to get Bruce’s breathing up, short bursts of air from his open mouth as Tim’s mouth sucks an earlobe to force a shiver down Bruce’s spine. Even breathy like this, Jason finds Bruce’s voice stirring up familiarity in his memories. The sounds of exertion are the same in sex as in fighting.  The intimacy of driving home when Batman was in pain, listening to those little grunts whenever the car hit a bump in the road, jostled the injury.

“Lift yourself up more, against the wall,” whispers Tim, and Bruce obeys, lifting himself off the floor into a crouch, bracing himself against the polished stone. Tim’s legs slip underneath, so that Bruce is almost sitting in his lap. Then, he begins to tug down the waistband of Bruce’s boxers.

Bruce has a grip on Tim’s wrist. “Not here.”

Tim’s voice is just as firm: “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

Jason’s heart jumps. “If he doesn’t want to…” he tries to placate.

“No,” says Tim, “No, Jay, you don’t understand. He has to do it _now_ , because if he doesn’t, it’ll just be harder to force himself next time.” Tim’s palm holds the side of Bruce’s neck, a thumb sliding along the edge of Bruce’s lips, and Bruce is visibly shaking with arousal and nerves. “ _Baby,”_ Tim whispers, “I know you’re afraid to show Jason, but it’s _time_ , and you need to rip off the bandage.”

“If he doesn’t want to,” Jason says again, “he doesn’t have to, Tim. Don’t force him.”

“I’m not _forcing_ him,” Tim snaps, then flinches. He tempers his voice, saying, “Jay, you have no idea. You have no idea how much he’s wanted this, how often he says your name. He _needs_ this, he needs to show you.”

Bruce is shaking his head no, fervently, mouth opened like some sort of horror. “Jason…” he says, but nothing else comes out.

Tim takes a deep, steadying breath, and with the hand not held captive in Bruce’s grip, he smooths down Bruce’s hair. “He’s not going to leave, Bruce. He’s not going to be disgusted, he’s not going to leave.”

From the way the muscles of his face bunch up, Bruce’s eyes must be shut tight behind the blindfold, his teeth gritted.

And Jason… understands, now. The paralyzing fear of making the wrong decisions, his own inhibitions mirrored back at him in Bruce. And then there’s Tim, mercifully guiding them out of their self-imprisonment.

Jason crawls forward on his knees. He hesitates for a moment, but then carefully touches the back of Bruce’s knuckles where he has a hold on Tim’s wrist. “He’s right,” Jason murmurs, prying up Bruce’s fingers gingerly. “I’m not leaving. I’m not gonna hate you.”

A low, tremulous voice erupts from Bruce, “Jason you are under _no_ obligation to…” (but Jason’s lips press against knuckle), “If you – if you left, it wouldn’t change the way I… Jason, it’s okay to leave. No one will think less of you. I would never treat you any differently for this, Jason, _please_ believe me…”

Carefully, with the tip of his tongue, Jason licks a stripe up the length of Bruce’s index finger, and listens to the gratifying gasp that follows. “I’m not leaving. I want to see,” he says. Peripherally he notices Tim’s smile, somewhere between wicked and soft, proud, pleased. To Bruce, Jason whispers, _“Show me._ Show me how good you can be.”

 

They work together to divest Bruce of his clothes, because it’s an awkward feat in this position. Jason can hear his heartbeat in his ears as his fingers brush against the hot skin of Bruce’s hip, pulling elastic away and down his legs. When the task is done and Bruce is settled in Tim’s lap, Jason can really look, can really focus. Bruce is hard and _leaking,_ drips of pre-cum catching wetness on his stomach. The skin there is smooth; Tim must keep him shaved. Then dark hair down his thighs and calves. Tim’s fingertips trace a line up the inside of Bruce’s thigh. His legs are hanging open to accommodate Tim’s body, so it’s impossible to shelter his modesty. At the space just before his balls, Tim pinches the skin hard, and the wordless grunt it elicits is intensely satisfying to Jason.

Then Tim reaches down between Bruce’s legs and behind, and Bruce automatically cants his hips forward, and…

It’s another thing that Jason should have guessed earlier, the fact that Bruce has had a plug inside him this whole time. What he couldn’t have guessed is how _hot_ it would be to watch Tim begin pulling the plug out, before pushing it back in and _stirring_ it inside Bruce’s hole, watching the motion like electricity make Bruce’s cock jump and pulse like something possessed.

Bruce is panting, pushing his hips forward insistently to give Tim access but otherwise not saying a word. Then Tim pulls the plug out, at a deliberately awkward angle, and Bruce’s toes curl, his head tilts back to stare sightlessly at the ceiling.

Tim doesn’t bother to remove his own underwear. He just slips his erection through the opening in the fabric.  Jason watches over Tim’s shoulder, studies the angle of Tim’s cock, the girth of it, nothing especially impressive but still hard as hell and _pulsing_ with his arousal. Jason only gets to see him for a fraction of a second, before Tim slams home into Bruce’s open hole, hard enough for the slap of skin to reverb around the tiny stone saferoom.

A punishing rhythm. Bruce’s head is still lolling back against the wall; he takes each thrust of Tim’s cock with a clipped moan, his knees still wide open, helpless to do anything but let himself be fucked. Jason’s mouth is watering as he palms himself through his pants.

“Should we… take off your blindfold…?” Tim hisses out against Bruce’s ear. “Let you… see Jason… watching you get fucked so good?”  He doesn’t wait to hear an answer from Bruce. He just reaches up to push the sleep mask up and off Bruce’s face, the elastic band pushing strands of hair away from his forehead.

Bruce’s head is still tipped back against the wall but, despite the awkward angle, his eyes lock on Jason, and his mouth is trying to form Jason’s name, something like shame and lust coloring his cheeks. When Tim gives an especially brutal thrust, Bruce cries out, the sound turning into a chanted phrase, “ _I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”_ It’s all whispered nonsense, and it doesn’t matter what Bruce is apologizing for, or if he’s apologizing for anything. It’s probably just what falls out of his mouth automatically when Jason is near. 

Jason hears the past few months of Red Hood’s confrontations with Batman; the same words, _I’m sorry, I failed you…_ over and over until it lost all meaning. It always rubs Jason the wrong way, because it feels like Bruce is apologizing for what Jason has become. Jason is proud of the work he does as Red Hood and he hates that every time Bruce apologizes to him, it’s laced with disapproval.

Here, though, the apology sounds like shame. Like he’s apologizing for how hard his cock is while Tim fucks him. Apologizing for how much he gets off on being brought down like this. Apologizing for letting Jason see him like this.

Those apologies just make Jason gasp pleasure with his face pressed against Tim’s shoulder, “Fuck…”

Tim snarls, grinning maliciously, “Jay, he’s gonna come”

 _“Yes,”_ Jason groans. He presses himself fully against Tim’s back and reaches out around Tim to dig fingers into Bruce’s chin and force eye contact, _“Look_ at me. Show me how much you love Tim’s cock in you.”

And he and Tim are cheek to cheek watching Bruce, and Tim is leaning back against the juncture of Jason’s neck, and Jason wonders if Bruce isn’t the only one who likes being watched.

And he’s not thinking, exactly. Hasn’t been thinking clearly at all since he first saw Tim fuck Bruce’s throat on the security footage. So, with his free hand, Jason knots his fingers in Tim’s hair, and then he crushes his lips against Tim’s mouth.

Which is, of course, what pushes Bruce over the edge. His huge, meaty cock, still untouched, painting cum up into the fabric of the undershirt. And the way his hole clenches pulls Tim over as well. Tim’s shout is captured by Jason’s mouth, and his cum spurts inside Bruce.

They just stay there, locked together, for a fraction of a second, Tim’s cock as deep as possible, Bruce’s eyes shut tight as he rides out the climax, milking Tim’s body.

 

The kiss is like… Jason trying to communicate white-hot gratitude with just his lips.

Gratitude for the way Tim handled three generations of festering need. The way he was so much braver than Jason. The way Tim could have been jealous and possessive of his special relationship with Bruce, but he… he made this happen, instead.

Eventually Tim must have pulled out – Jason didn’t notice, except that Tim turns to face him fully. Those hands which were so rough with Bruce settle hesitant and soft against the side of Jason’s face.

Jason presses his forehead against Tim’s, and pulls away from the kiss just enough to whisper, “God, you’re incredible.”

Tim leans back, carefully, searching Jason’s face. He tries to say something, but it seems to take a few tries to get his voice to work. “I… uh…” he whispers, to Jason, “I didn’t… expect that.”

“Bad?” asks Jason.

Tim smiles and ducks his eyes, half-giddy from the kiss and the orgasm, “No, not bad.”

Then Tim gathers himself, takes a deep breath, and turns back to Bruce.

“He comes down pretty hard,” Tim explains, quietly. Bruce does indeed look… out of it. Like he’s not watching so much as seeing them, passive and overwhelmed. There’s still blush all up his neck, pink and hot.

Tim’s cum is dripping from Bruce’s hole onto the floor, and Jason’s gaze is stuck there for a moment.

“We still need to get you off,” says Tim. Surprised, Jason turns to him, and Tim gestures at the tent of Jason’s erection in his pants.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mm,” Tim hums, “I’ve got to take care of him first, but then I’ll blow you.”

“Jesus, Tim—”

“I want to. Maybe Bruce will watch. Stay here a minute?” Tim stands, and Bruce’s eyes follow him, but he doesn’t move. Jason also looks at Tim – he’s tucked himself away again in his underwear, so he’s still mostly clothed. “I’m going to get a washcloth and some water.”

“Why don’t I do that?” Jason offers, “B needs you more.”

“I don’t think that’s the case, Jay. I’ll be right back.”

The panic room door is left ajar behind Tim, and if possible, Bruce seems to relax more as soon as Tim is out of sight, boneless against the wall, still filthy and almost naked.  Jason shifts closer, to lean against the wall next to him. He doesn’t touch yet, he just listens to the pattern of Bruce’s breath. “You okay, old man?”

Bruce nods, with his eyes shut. Still doesn’t say anything, which makes sense, considering it was so hard for him to speak earlier.

Jason doesn’t bother trying to read him – Bruce’s face is notoriously difficult to read. Instead Jason considers what Tim said, _he comes down pretty hard_ , and he tries to think of how Bruce might be feeling. Perhaps in the heat of sex, the shame turns to arousal, but then in the aftermath the shame returns, even more sour when coupled with the sticky physical sensations of having been used.

“Hey,” says Jason. He doesn’t bother to pick his words carefully and overthink everything like he normally would around Bruce. He just says what feels right, softly, all for the sake of easing Bruce’s heart: “Like I told you, I didn’t leave, did I? I’m sticking around right here.” His hand finds Bruce’s knee, which he strokes gently. “I’m with you in this. That make you feel better?”

Bruce is shaking his head no. Weakly, he pulls his knees to his chest again, as if to cover himself.

Jason frowns at him. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He expects Bruce to remain nonverbal, so it’s a surprise when the man begins to speak, half mumbled. “Things were always different with Tim. He chose to be Robin. He didn’t give me a choice.  I defined my relationship with Dick, and with you, the moment I took you in. I was meant to protect you and raise you. But Tim defined his relationship to me on his own terms. It corrupted, but it was supposed to be quarantined between us. He was never supposed to let it spread to you.”

“I found out on my own,” Jason says. “It would have been so much worse, if Tim hadn’t explained everything to me. I would have attacked you.”

“He should have let that happen.”

“Bruce,” Jason admonishes, his voice turning hard. Bruce goes tense. “Tim isn’t an exception. This is something Dick and I had fantasized about for years.”

Bruce’s jaw sets, and he stares hard at the shut door. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“And I think you’ve thought about this, too. You could have stopped this thing with Tim. If you really didn’t want what happened tonight, you could have said—” But Jason cuts himself off, because that’s not really true, is it? Bruce _had_ said no. Fervently.

It was out of fear, and shame, but that doesn’t really change things, does it? Bruce still had said no. Somehow, Jason had turned that no into a yes, and they’d continued.

“It’s Tim,” Bruce chokes out, “I’ve never been able to say no to Tim. Especially not now.” Jason fills in the blanks, _especially not now that he’s got my number, now that Tim knows my body better than I do, now that I’m so desperately and completely dependent on him._

It makes sense. Like Bruce had said, Tim was the one who decided to be Robin and steamrolled over Bruce’s objections. This wasn’t so different from that.

“Would you go back to the way things were?” asks Tim. He’s standing in the doorway, his head tilted curiously at Bruce. It isn’t clear how long he’s been listening.

Bruce shuts his mouth, and then tucks his face against his knees, silently.

Concern is growing in Jason’s gut again. “Tim?” he asks, not a real question but a plea for more detail, more explanation.

Tim comes closer to kneel in front of Bruce, just where he had been when they were fucking. He presses a kiss against Bruce’s temple before gently prying his legs apart, and Bruce wordlessly cooperates, though he uses his arms to cover his face. With the damp washcloth, Tim cleans around Bruce’s cock (still half-hard in Tim’s hands), and then finally he cleans up Bruce’s hole. “You’ll notice,” Tim says softly to Jason as he works, “that it isn’t so difficult for him to talk about the parts of this he thinks are wrong. It isn’t so difficult for him to talk about how ashamed he is, or apologetic, or how much he resents that this is what’s become of him. But when it comes to admitting any pleasure he gets from this, he completely shuts down.”

“What if it’s because he isn’t as into it as you say he is?” Jason asks – not an accusation but a question.

“Because if he really didn’t want it, then the words would come easy. Like earlier, when he didn’t want to have sex in front of you, he was very vocal, wasn’t he? He said no, he said not here, he begged you to reconsider… He can’t be vocal like that about the things he likes. If he admits that he wants this, that makes him complicit, and that’s too much for him to bear. He can’t… handle that. His voice gets stuck.” The washcloth lingers on Bruce’s balls, Tim’s grip getting firmer through the cloth until Bruce lets out a whine. “We’re working on that.”

 

Eventually, Jason pulls Bruce to his feet. Tim peels the undershirt up and over Bruce’s shoulders. They start the showers.

Fifteen minutes later, Tim is a sight, with his mouth around Jason’s cock. His lips are… really pink, and it’s maybe the first time Jason thought of him as pretty. Why would he have ever thought of Tim as pretty? But something about the past few hours… has shown Jason more about Tim’s character. Mouthwatering power humming under Tim’s skin, and yet he offers himself to suck Jason.

It occurs to Jason that maybe Tim is looking for his approval, the way Jason felt about Dick.

With a flat lick against the head, Tim pulls off to look at Jason. “Good?” he asks, his voice a bit hoarse.

“Unbelievable.”

“Good.” Tim smirks, and sets about his task again, and Jason lets his head fall back against the tiled wall.

He’s seated on the bench. He pets Tim’s hair, combing through the wet locks and pressing a thumb against Tim’s cheek. Tim’s mouth feels hot and perfect. In the haze of the steam, Jason also sees Bruce standing under the shower spray a few feet away from him. Bruce’s arms are crossed, and he’s watching Tim’s head bob.

“Does he ever do this for you?” Jason asks.

A beat, then a silent nod from Bruce.

Tim swallows around him, and Jason chokes out a sigh, leaning back and spreading his legs more. “ _Fuck,_ that’s hot.”

Bruce is hard again. If Jason were in his position, naked and watching Timothy give spectacular head, Jason would be touching himself. But Bruce does nothing, lets it stand against his belly pink and red and ignored.

Jason wonders if Bruce feels ignored, watching Tim pay attention to someone else when for the last few years he’s had Tim all to himself.

That’s when he comes. Less of a climax and more of a satisfied wave of pleasure, meeting Bruce’s eyes over Tim’s head.

The thought that Tim could _do_ this to Bruce... he pulls Tim up onto his lap to kiss him soundly again, and Bruce can just damn wait, because Tim deserves this sort of recognition for bringing Jason… closure. Tim’s laughing, saying to Jason, “I’m glad this worked out. We should, uh, do this more often.”

Jason kisses him, with an eye on Bruce, who nears them. Still naked and hard, Bruce puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I’m going upstairs.”

Jason tries to stifle a smirk. Tim twists around to look up at Bruce. “Okay,” he says.

Bruce gives Jason a nod, then pulls a towel off the rack and leaves the shower room.

Jason sighs, and mouths at Tim’s bottom lip. “Why didn’t you offer to help him with his… predicament? Don’t you think that’s why he said something?”

Tim shrugs. “It’s not the first time. He knows that if he wanted anything from me he’d only need to ask, but you know that’s hard for him. Likewise, he can’t touch himself, can’t let himself do that. Sometimes it’s easier to wait for it to go away.” He licks his lips thoughtfully, studying Jason. “If I were feeling more merciful I’d have dealt with it.”

“Mm.”

“You think that’s hot, don’t you,” Tim surmises. “You like that it’s brutal, you like when it hurts him, even though you say you’re worried about him.”

“A weakness of will,” Jason murmurs.

Tim grins. “Give it a few weeks, we’ll see how weak your will can get.”

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you liked it!!  
> i haven't written any more of this series but i'd like to.  
> also my tumblr is [here.](http://mitzvahmelting.tumblr.com)


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